Monday, February 8, 2016

New moon tonighttime to send out thoselittle paper boatswe call our heartsonto the waves againinto the open bayof this month's imaginationand thence into the sea of this year's destinywhere they will drownof course having roundedthe cape of lost hopeand clinging to the coastappear again on the horizonlike the lifting of the host

The languages on the busgo round and roundevery seat taken upby a different dialectand the standing crowded inholding onto their accentshow could we have cometo so many kinds of sayingthe same things over and overexcept maybe we didn'treally want to understandone another we didn'treally want to listenor mean it reallywhen we said I love